


Nothing Unusual, Nothing Strange

by Kayka



Series: Nothing Unusual, Something Unusual [1]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayka/pseuds/Kayka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After thirteen years, five months, one week, and four days, the end of a century promises a change. That is, if Sarah doesn't murder Jareth, first. Fluffy-funny-snarky-Sareth-one-shot-thinger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Unusual, Nothing Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I wish I owned Labyrinth. Well, that obviously didn't work. Please carry on not suing me as I search futilely for my right words.

Startled out of a dead sleep by an unmistakably masculine voice, Sarah Williams shot up swinging.

As a single, roommate-less female of not quite twenty-nine, this was an undoubtedly appropriate reaction.

Unfortunately, her assailant proved to be annoyingly dexterous, capturing her flailing fist before she could manage to break the man's nose.

Dazed at the abrupt cessation of her assault, as well as the lack of further offensive or defensive maneuvers from the other party, Sarah blearily peered up at the intruder. A streetlight granted enough light for her to make out a striking silhouette graced with wonderfully ridiculous, poofy hair.

Groggily recognizing her would-be attacker as the long-absent-from-her-life-which-was-how-she-preferred-him-thanks King of the Goblins, the woman fell back to her bed with a groan. Of course. How else had she expected to start the new millennium but with her own personal apocalypse?

She might as well get whatever this was over with.

Obviously, she needed to greet him with something classy and poignant which would convey thirteen years of maturity and personal growth.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Or that.

That would work, too.

In the dim lighting she could just make out a mischievous grin. Meanwhile, a gloved thumb had started running soothing patterns over the knuckles of her captured limb.

At noticing this, Sarah attempted to tug aforementioned limb out of the Goblin King's grasp but soon resigned herself to the fact that it was, for the moment, a prisoner of war.

"Come, come, Sarah, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"Dunno. Let you know next time I see one," she deadpanned, dragging her free hand down her face. "And if you're not going to share why you're waking me up at this ungodly hour, after more than a decade of blissful non-interaction, then get the hell out."

"Ah, but it would be unduly hasty for me to leave before you've even heard, much less considered, my proposition."

Sarah involuntarily shuddered at the way he practically purred that last word. He couldn't possibly mean anything- She stopped herself before those sorts of thoughts could come to fruition and chose to focus instead on how sleepy she was, and how eager she was to return to that blissful state of oblivion.

"It's three-thirty in morning. The only thing I'm considering is where to stash the damned body after I murder you, Goblin King."

The soothing circles stopped abruptly, and his once playful smirk took a disconcertingly malicious turn. Apparently, she'd just run headlong into the edge of his patience. Oh, goody.

"My darling girl, you well know the power of your words. I suggest that you refrain from making further idle threats, lest we find ourselves playing a different game, entirely."

She finally snatched her hand back and occupied it by frustratedly running her fingers through the length of her hair. The compulsion to tell him just what she thought of him and any games in which he may be involved was tempered by the uncontrollable urge to yawn. Adrenaline rushes just weren't what they used to be.

"Look. It's none of your business, but I haven't slept properly in days. It's the middle of the night. I'm exhausted. And I'd really, really like to go back to sleep. Can't we just exchange witty repartees and finish whatever this," she gestured between them, "is some other time?"

Jareth stepped back, brow furrowed as he eyed her shrewdly.

"If I were to make such a concession, I expect you to be willing to make one of your own."

"Uh huh." She agreed, allowing her eyes to slip shut. At this point, she would probably agree to wrangle him the moon, if it meant gaining a few well-deserved hours of shut-eye.

"I will grant you the remainder of this night's uninterrupted respite, for your full, fair, and impartial consideration of my proposal upon my return."

Apparently "Mmm" could be considered sufficient assent. Who knew?

"Very well, precious. Let it never be said that I am not exceedingly generous."

And then he was gone, leaving nary a speck of glitter to suggest he had ever really been there at all.

By the time Sarah fell back asleep minutes later, she had half convinced herself that the whole brief interlude was a particularly lucid, if not boringly tame, dream. It wouldn't have been the first time her subconscious forays starred diabolical, transdimensional, goblin monarchs.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah was always very good at sticking to her new year's resolutions.

During the first week, at least.

Sometimes longer, if she felt particularly ambitious.

For the long haul, if it were issued as a challenge.

For precisely these reasons, it should come as no surprise that she greeted the early afternoon by unfurling her long neglected yoga mat, suiting up in lounge pants and a sports bra, and setting to work.

It was halfway through her routine, as she was enjoying the tension released by her favorite stretch, that she suddenly felt oddly unsettled.

Popping her eyes open from where they had apparently slipped closed, she glimpsed through the 'v' of her legs a pair of booted feet eventually leading up to a pair of particularly fine thighs and- oh. Oh.

Her 'downward dog' nearly became 'broken-necked crane' as Sarah scrambled, half-tumbled, and eventually managed to attain a standing position.

So, it hadn't been a dream last night.

For a brief, shining, deluded moment, she had the audacity to hope that it wouldn't get any worse. If she refused to acknowledge him any further, maybe he would get bored and wander away.

Fat chance of that.

Involuntarily, her eyes drifted up to find a face rife with mischief and mirth. At her undivided attention, said face morphed further into a predatorily toothy grin.

"Good afternoon, Sarah."

Sarah, still torn between fight or flight, was apparently content to gape at him.

"While I'm not entirely certain what you were trying to accomplish, by all means, please don't stop on my account."

His grin widened further; her blush spread rapidly down her torso.

It was at this point that she remembered what, exactly, she was wearing and belatedly thought to cross her arms over her chest.

Fuck. Fuckfuckityfuck.

Never one to miss such a golden opportunity, he continued, "I'm actually quite glad you convinced me to come back later, Sarah-mine. I must admit that I quite enjoyed the show, abbreviated though it may have been."

Throughout his monologue, Sarah's thoughts centered solely on getting as many layers of clothing between herself and the Goblin King's delightfully odd eyes as humanly possible. While she was comfortable with her body, there was still no way in hell she was going to prance around in her sports bra in front of him.

With his previous words, Jareth began to advance toward her. An immediate strategic retreat was in order. Holding up one hand, she enacted just that.

"You. Stay. I'll be back in a minute or two. And don't touch anything."

"We really must work on your greetings, darling," he called after her as she fled.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After donning a thermal undershirt and the baggiest, most unflattering t-shirt she owned, Sarah wasted precious seconds deciding whether or not to add her quilted winter coat to the mix before ultimately deciding that her apartment was too warm and that he'd probably get his jollies knowing that he was the reason behind the unnecessary layering.

Not that he wouldn't think that already. For that matter, he'd probably been watching her and chosen that precise moment to pop in on purpose. Ass.

She couldn't believe the nerve of that man- king- mythological creature. She paused in re-hanging her coat. Scratch that, she totally could. Half stomping back into the den, she stopped short at the sight of the king sprawled indolently on her loveseat.

Oh dear, God.

Was he reading her Cosmo?

Two minutes.

Not even two minutes alone and he managed to find the single most embarrassing item on her coffee table. She knew she ought to have chucked it immediately when it arrived the other day.

"I thought I asked you not to touch anything."

"Funny, that. I don't remember actually agreeing to any such request," he quipped without wavering from an apparently riveting topic.

"Stop reading that!"

"Oh, but precious, I'm being educated and enlightened." He drew the magazine down from its lofty position in front of his face and tilted his head to address her with mock gravity. "Did you know that you could take your elastic hair bands and place them on-"

The salacious reading material was suddenly wrenched from his hands, ripped into halves, and slung fitfully across the room.

"That seemed a trifle unnecessary."

This drew Sarah's attention back to the perpetrator, not that it had really strayed far.

"Damn it, my subscription to that magazine was a gag gift from an idiot friend. It's not like I even want it; it just comes once a month, regardless."

He quirked a brow. "Oh? It comes once a month? Then how often do you c-"

"Finish that question, and I swear you'll find your own answer to be never again." She promised darkly.

His eyes gleamed with unabashed glee.

Oh, hell.

"My, my, Sarah, don't we have a naughty, dirty mind."

Sarah rapidly flushed an unhealthy shade of scarlet. This was ridiculous; she hadn't been so rapid-firely embarrassed over such a short period of time in, well, ever in her life, actually. This man was definitely not good for her blood pressure. The sooner he left, the better.

"I was merely going to ask the frequency with which you cleaned off this magazine covered table, before you so callously threatened my person. For the second time today, I might add."

"Just get on with whatever your actual reason for being here is before I say the words and kick you out," she grit through clenched teeth.

Affecting a business-like air, he suddenly swung around until he was perched on the piece of furniture in the manner which had been intended by the manufacturer. Indicating that she should take the seat next to him, Jareth subsequently rolled his eyes when Sarah instead crossed over to the plush armchair three feet away.

"Actually about that- I'm afraid you'll find that particular series of words won't work again so readily. Statute of limitations, and all." He waved a hand dismissively.

Was he saying that he could now drop in and annoy her whenever he wanted? No. Hell, no. Emphatically.

"What ever happened to what's said is said?"

Jareth leaned toward her as if letting her in on a profound secret. "That stipulation only lasts as long as you believe your words."

"You still took off with Toby when I didn't mean my words!"

"You didn't have to mean them, merely believe them. And you haven't believed the words in question for quite some time."

The revelation that he knew that left her feeling immediately and inexplicably dejected. No, she was not stung that she had apparently been left to fallow. Not at all. She simply couldn't look at him anymore because his smarmy face hurt her eyes.

"Then why are you bothering me just now?" she attempted, indifferently- definitely not sulkily. Definitely.

The next thing she knew, he was right there, invading her personal bubble and tipping her chin so she had little alternative but to look at him. His earlier facetiousness had been replaced by earnest solemnity. Talk about emotional rollercoasters.

"We are both remarkably willful individuals, Sarah. I wanted you to summon me, but you've remained distinctly disinclined to do so. Even now, you refuse to address me by my given name. Do you know what today is?"

She blinked at the apparent jump in topic. "It's New Year's Day, Jareth, so what?"

Playfulness flickered back into his expression at Sarah giving him exactly what he wanted to hear. Damn. He maneuvered her into that one effortlessly.

"So what? By your calendar, it is the first day of a new epoch; the very beginning of a brand new story. Our story if you prove amenable. Which brings us finally to my proposition: attend thirteen dinner dates with yours truly, and if by the end of which I have not thoroughly captured your heart, I will pursue the topic no further."

Something in his wording put her off, yet she couldn't pinpoint exactly what. It didn't feel like it could be anything too terribly odious, though.

"Remember, you've already granted your fair, impartial consideration."

Sarah's eyes flashed. Like hell there was any way she could be impartial about this.

"Thirteen dates, Sarah, I ask for so little," Jareth cajoled.

Oh, he was definitely a deceptive, egomaniacal, purposefully infuriating ass, but he wouldn't be him, if he were any other way.

She was also well aware that he had manipulated the entire encounter- both encounters- specifically to wear down her defenses. Flustering her and pissing her off were likely just lovely bonuses. She idly wondered at just how long he had been planning this.

Finally, Sarah huffed and set her jaw stubbornly, mentally steeling herself for what was to come next.

"I know I'm going to regret this, but yes, fine, whatever. Fair warning, though: I have high expectations."

His pleased grin was almost infectious.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, my brain does this weird thing where it hears a song and decides that it's inspired enough to write. Not that you can really tell- whatsoever, at all, maybe if you squint- but the most cursory inspiration for this little slice was Damien Rice's 'Amie.' With my brain being my brain, however, it inevitably spews out a silly little story that bears absolutely no resemblance to the mood of the original inspiration. Ah, well, what's written is written, and that's the end of this particular misadventure!


End file.
